


The Holiday Party

by ExternalOptimist



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: 1990s, Catholicism - mentioned, Coming Out, Episode: s03e11 Lassie Did a Bad Bad Thing, Episode: s03e15 Tuesday the 17th, Episode: s04e09 Shawn Takes a Shot In the Dark, Episode: s04e15 The Head the Tail the Whole Damn Episode, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Hate Crime - Mentioned, Homophobia, I forgot that Lauren Lassiter existed, Insecure Shawn Spencer, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Repressed Carlton Lassiter - sort of, So she's not in this, Victoria is mentioned, and yes she does deserve better, episodes mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExternalOptimist/pseuds/ExternalOptimist
Summary: As they were driving away, his mother turned to him from the passenger seat.“That being said, Booker, if you aren't going to change your lifelong dream to be the youngest Head Detective in Santa Barbara history, no one on the force can know,” she said, bluntly. “You and I have both heard the stories.”The lingering smile slipped from his face and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.“I know, Mother.”---I just really like this journey for Carlton. My headcanon for Mona is a grumpy, but supportive, badass lesbian.
Relationships: Althea/Mona Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	The Holiday Party

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be a cute little mistletoe ficlet. I have no idea how this happened, but here you go.
> 
> (I've tried to tag anything that might be triggering, but please let me know if you think I've missed something.)

Carlton stood leaning against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, taking occasional sips from the warm cup of cider in his hand.

It was the station's annual Holiday Party.

They'd stopped calling it a Christmas Party a few years ago, to which Carlton's strict Irish upbringing gave his insides a twinge of guilt, but he squashed it quickly, as he'd been doing for the past two decades since he stopped attending Mass.

…

Father Lewis had known his family since before Carlton was born. Had helped his mother after his father had left, he was considered almost family. Then Father Lewis had seen Carlton sending off his college boyfriend for the summer and had proceeded to preach a _lovely_ fire and brimstone sermon about the dangers of homosexuality whilst staring him down the majority of the time, effectively outing him to the entire congregation and forcing Carlton's mom to choose a side.

Fortunately for Carlton, his mother chose him and told the Father where he could shove it, in the gruff, direct way of hers that Carlton had inherited. It worked just as well on criminals as it did on Father Lewis, whose plan backfired when Carlton's mother left him as the one with the fear of God in him and Carlton had left with a proud smile and his arm around his mother's shoulders.

As they were driving away, his mother turned to him from the passenger seat.

“That being said, Booker, if you aren't going to change your lifelong dream to be the youngest Head Detective in Santa Barbara history, no one on the force can know,” she said, bluntly. “You and I have both heard the stories.”

The lingering smile slipped from his face and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I know, Mother.”

...

Carlton's fists clenched around a phantom steering wheel as raucous laughter brought him back to the present.

He looked down to find what was left of his cider dribbling down the front of his shirt from the hole that had appeared when the bottom of the cheap paper cup separated from the side when he'd crushed it.

Carlton let out a deep sigh, drawing a glance from the leader of the group that he had been dragged to join by an overly enthusiastic O'Hara, who had then proceeded to abandon him for Guster.

Shawn had been telling an animated tale of how the Ghost of Christmas Future had “manifested” to him the previous night, which Carlton knew for a fact had not happened, and he was now passing on the message to those he “deemed worthy” of how their next few Christmases would pass.

“Ah, Detective Lassiter!” He said gravely, raising his arm slowly to point at Carlton like the Ghost pointing to Scrooge's headstone.

Carlton sighed again at having drawn the man's attention, and therefore the attention of everyone else in their huddle as well. He dropped his mangled cup into his desk wastebasket and crossed his arms again, lower than he usually did, to hide the cooling cider spill as best he could.

“Lassie, Lassie, Lassie,” Shawn continued, arm still outstretched as he stepped closer until his finger poked Carlton in the chest.

Carlton slapped the hand away, causing Shawn to fake the momentum into spinning him in a dramatic circle, his hand coming to rest on Carlton's chest again, open-palmed this time, warm fingers digging in to his shirt to hold him in place.

“Buzz off, Spencer,” Carlton frowned. “I wouldn't want to hear your future predictions even if they were real. Which would be impossible because psychics _don't exist_.”

There was a ripple of a groan through their audience.

“Oh, but Lassie,” Shawn grinned, and Carlton was momentarily distracted by the sparkle in his hazel eyes. “The robo-ghost from the future left me a message for you too.”

Carlton shifted, his eyes narrowing at Shawn's warily. Shawn wiggled his eyebrows back at him and continued.

“The Robo-Cop of Christmas Future says the winds are changing for you, oh Lassiferous one.” Shawn raised his hand to his head in his classic psychic gesture. “What's this? The winds of loooove are shifting your way, my dear Detective.”

O'Hara gasped and bounced on her toes excitedly for her partner as she gripped the arm of Guster next to her. Guster whose best friend told him everything. Guster who let out a choked sound and started edging behind the pillar he had previously been leaning against.

“ _Spencer,_ ” Carlton growled low, in warning.

“I feel it in my fingers!” Shawn yelled, his hands spasming wildly, though still keeping a tight grip on Carlton's shirt. Then his feet started kicking, nearly catching a nearby sergeant in the shin, causing the crowd to all take a step back. Shawn looked at them all in confusion. “I feel it in my toes?”

“Love is all around!” Buzz called out like a gameshow contestant from his usual place at the back of the crowd.

Shawn's expression cleared as he appeared to come out of his psychic episode for a moment as a proud smile came across his face and he pointed at Buzz, “Good man, Detective McNabb!”

Confusion clouded Buzz's face, “Shawn, you know I'm not-”

“Ah, the future!” Shawn interrupted, spinning back into his “psychic vision” and back into Carlton.

Carlton, still held in place by Shawn's claw in his shirt, which was now stained _and_ wrinkled, leaned back as best he could, pinned to his desk as he was, as the fake psychic leaned heavily against him, momentarily losing his balance from all the spinning.

“Love really is all around,” Shawn continued in a fake British accent, as he regained his footing. He turned to face Carlton again and Carlton's breath caught as the sparkle of mischief in Shawn's eyes faded to sincerity for a moment before a second hand swung up to grip and wrinkle the other side of his shirt. Carlton let out another low growl.

Back to his normal, loud and dramatic, psychic vision voice, Shawn said, “Love is all around you, Lassie. All of us here, love you and support you and want you to be happy.”

Carlton flushed with embarrassment at the proclamation, as well as with relief. Shawn finally released him and backed into the open circle he had created earlier with his flailing, arms spread wide once again. “Isn't that right everybody!?” Shawn looked over his shoulders towards the crowd behind him.

O'Hara let out a loud, seemingly involuntary, cheer and shook Guster's arm again, which was the only part of him that was visible from behind the pillar. There were a few scattered cheers, and Carlton rolled his eyes, wanting to be anywhere else. Though, to his surprise, the reaction of the crowd, while not quite as riotous as Shawn had apparently hoped, was still a general consensus of agreement, as his colleagues nodded and a few even smiled in his direction.

Carlton felt his heart tighten with emotion. He _really_ needed to get out of here.

Shawn let his arms drop exhaustedly and smiled at Carlton, that mischievous sparkle making a return.  
“Even though, some of them just want you to be happy so that their jobs can be easier. A happy Head Detective is a happy station.”

That broke the slightly awkward tension that had begun to fall as the crowd rippled with laughter, some more sheepish than others.

Shawn winked in Carlton's direction before turning and yelling, “Gus! Where'd you go? You better not have used my psychic vision as an opportunity to eat all the snicker doodles. Again!”

The crowd dispersed as Shawn dragged Guster towards the refreshment table on the other side of the bullpen.

Carlton took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and slumped against his desk. Examining the now set in stain on his shirt in an effort to ignore anyone who might try to catch his eye.

He was startled then, by a hand landing gently on his bicep and looked up into the too compassionate eyes of his partner.

“Psychic vision or not, he's right you know,” O'Hara said. “We've all got your back, Carlton.” She then pulled him into a hug, not caring if the stain on his shirt transferred to her cream colored sweater. And if, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Carlton hugged her back slightly more tightly and slightly longer than he usually did, she had the grace not to mention it.

“Thanks, O'Hara,” Carlton said gruffly as he pulled back, not meeting her eyes. “I'm going to go see if I can do something about this stain.”

He felt O'Hara's eyes following him as he pushed his way through his coworkers towards the restroom, but when he glanced back before going down the stairs, she was laughing as Shawn and Guster pulled her into a debate that seemed to be over snickerdoodles versus sugar cookies. When she picked up an oatmeal raisin, they both gasped in a scandalized fashion and clutched at non-existent pearls around their necks.

Carlton rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the corners of his lips from twitching as he fought a smile.

…

“You should ask her to marry you,” Carlton's mother announced, coming into the laundry room as he loaded wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.

“What?” Carlton said, freezing mid-transfer, one wet sock falling from his arms to land with a _plop_ on his bare foot, making Carlton cringe.

He was visiting his mother for the weekend, as he did twice a month, to do his laundry. The apartment he had rented since graduating the Academy didn't have on-site laundry facilities and Carlton and his mother both agreed that scrounging for quarters to use at the laundromat was stupid when he was saving up for a downpayment on a house. Neither of them acknowledged that it was really just an excuse for him to visit.

Carlton shook his head and stuffed the armful of clothes into the dryer before they could soak through his t-shirt. He lifted his foot with the sock on it and kicked it into the dryer as well.

“I heard some of the sergeants talking about their rookies when they came into the diner for lunch last week, Booker,” his mother said matter-of-factly. “I'm not going to repeat what they said, but the rumors are starting already.”

Carlton sighed and continued loading the dryer. “I've been seeing Victoria for nearly three years, Mother. I make sure to mention her whenever the opportunity comes up. They have no reason to suspect I'm anything other than straight.”

“Something to do with your reaction to the case that was all over the news last week,” his mother continued as though she hadn't heard him.

Carlton threw the last armful of clothes into the dryer more forcefully than he'd done the rest and slammed the door before wrenching the dial to start the dryer cycle.

“Do _not_ take your frustration out on my appliances, Booker!” His mother said sternly.

Carlton hoisted his basket of dry clothes from the previous load onto his hip with an automatic, “Sorry, Mother.”

She nodded firmly before turning and heading to sit at the dining room table. Carlton looked to the ceiling as though to ask for help, though he knew there was no one there, before following his mother and dumping the clothes onto the table.

She began sorting out pairs of socks as Carlton quickly picked out all of his underwear and tossed them back into the laundry basket on the floor before his mother could start folding those as well.

They worked quietly for a while as Carlton began pulling out his work shirts and hung them in the doorway to the laundry room before they could get too wrinkled.

“He was just a kid,” Carlton said quietly. “Barely in high school and they- He-” Carlton cut himself off as the crime scene swam before his eyes.

“I know, Booker, I saw the news,” his mother said, not looking up, knowing it was easier for him to talk that way. She balled up another pair of socks.

“The things they said,” Carlton continued. “His body- we were still at the crime scene. They didn't even have the decency to keep it in the locker room. But when we got back, it was even worse. I couldn't-I couldn't listen to that. He was a person. He was just a kid.”

“And you told them that?” His mother asked calmly.

“Of course I did!” Carlton said, fiercely. “We are there to protect and serve _everybody_ in our community! Not just those who we approve of! Not just those whose lifestyles don't make us uncomfortable. It's liberty and justice for _all,_ Mother.”

Carlton took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off of his mustache.

“Carlton, you know I agree with you. And I'm proud of you for standing up to your colleagues. But-”

“I know, Mother,” Carlton said, not wanting to hear it. “Our anniversary is in a few weeks. I'll ask her then.”

…

Carlton stood at the sink in the restroom, wiping at the cider stain on his shirt. He'd been so scared for so long.

The door to the restroom burst open, making Carlton jump and drop the paper towel he'd been using into the sink.

“There you are, Lassie-bear!” Shawn said happily, turning to push on each of the stall doors, making them slam loudly against the walls.

“Spencer, just what in the hell-”

“Shhh!” Shawn said, appearing before Carlton and pressing a finger to his lips, before pulling away just as suddenly and moving to barricade the restroom door with a mop stuck through the door handle and jammed between the opening between the wall and the stall.

“Now,” Shawn said, turning back to the detective, “Take off your shirt.”

Carlton's mouth dropped open and he felt himself growing red from head to toe before fixing a glare onto his face. “Shawn, we've had this conversation before, no...shenanigans at the station.”

“I'm not trying for any “shenanigans”,” Shawn rolled his eyes. “Though I wouldn't say no, if you had a sudden change of heart?” he raised his eyebrows in askance.

Carlton held his glare.

“Right,” Shawn said, pouting slightly, before sucking his lip back in and holding up a navy blue sweater. “You still need to take your shirt off.”

“Ah,” Carlton said, his expression changing to one of surprise, relief, and affection. “Thank you.”

Shawn grinned and wiggled the sweater in a little dance, “Come on, Lassie, the party's barely started and I know you don't want to miss the Secret Santa exchange.”

Carlton groaned, but proceeded with pulling his tie off and beginning to unbutton his shirt. Shawn watched him with hawklike intensity until Carlton gave him a pointed look and a gentle, “Shawn.”

Shawn cleared his throat and nodded, “Right, right, no station shenanigans.” He turned to the sweater in his hand and grabbed the ends of the sleeves, throwing one over his shoulder and stretching his arm out with the other, clutching the sweater to his chest with his free hand and beginning to move in a circle as though dancing.

As Carlton untucked his shirt, he heard Shawn saying softly to himself, “This is not a strip tease, this is not a strip tease. Your smokin' hot boyfriend is taking off his wet white shirt in the sexiest way possible. No shenanigans, Shawn, no shenanigans.”

Carlton snorted as he pulled off his undershirt and Shawn let out a soft groan through gritted teeth.

“Shawn, give me the sweater,” Carlton said, setting his folded shirts on the edge of the sink.

“And if I say no?” Shawn teased, looking over his shoulder at Carlton flirtatiously as he continued to wiggle his hips to imaginary music.

Carlton bared his teeth in a grin and took two long strides towards Shawn, wrapping his arms around him from behind and putting his hands over Shawn's where he was holding the sweater.

“If you say no,” Carlton whispered into Shawn's ear, making him shiver, “Your secret Santa gift will be the only one you receive tonight.”

Shawn pressed back into Carlton's chest, just for a moment, and then released the sweater.

“Not fair,” Shawn whined, turning to face the still shirtless Carlton. “You can't show me all this and not-”

“Which way does this thing go?” Carlton interrupted, turning the sweater in his hands and ignoring Shawn.

Shawn huffed and grabbed the sweater, turning it around and holding it open like one might to a toddler they were trying to dress. “Arms up!” Shawn said, with a grin.

Carlton balked at the implication and crossed his arms over his chest, “Shawn, I am not going to let you dre-ahh, dammit Shawn!”

Carlton's vision was engulfed in navy blue as Shawn jumped forward and forced the sweater over his head, effectively trapping him as his arms were now pinned to his chest inside the body of the sweater.

His head popped out of the top and he glared, knowing that his face was bright red and his hair was sure to be a mess. He opened his mouth to shout at Shawn some more when the look on the younger man's face stopped him short.

That mischievous sparkle was back in his eyes of course, but instead of the smug grin he was expecting, the smile was soft. Pure adoration.

…

Carlton hadn't meant to fall in love. And certainly not with Spencer.

It had started with the Drimmer case. Little did that psychopathic nutball know that his implication in Carlton's supposed suicide note of him and Spencer having been lovers would set the wheels turning in Carlton's paranoid mind.

Had Drimmer actually picked up on something? Had Carlton's eyes lingered on Spencer for too long? Had he manhandled him too much? Carlton had long since believed he had perfected his gruff, straight, Clint Eastwood-like persona. Emphasis on the straight. He had himself laced so tightly there was no room for anything else.

Spencer's unwavering belief in his innocence did nothing to help Carlton's predicament.

Times were changing, Carlton knew, from when he had first joined the force, but decades of fear and negative reinforcement from his fellow cops were hard to shake.

Then had come the official divorce papers from Victoria.

He called his mother.

She had long since gotten over her anger at him for letting his marriage crumble. After she'd raged at him, in usual Lassiter fashion, she had hung up and Carlton had spent the rest of his shift lashing out at anyone who dared to so much as look at him. She called him at home that evening, when she had calmed down from the surprise and all Carlton had had to say was, “Mother, she knows.”

So when he called her this time, it was more resignation than hesitation.

“Well, what could be more straight than an unhappily divorced cop?” She said, with an air of sarcasm.

Carlton scoffed.

“Or maybe it's time to stop hiding.”

Carlton had been shocked into silence and his mother continued.

“I've met a woman,” she said. “Her name's Althea.”

After that his mother had started emailing him photos of her and Althea at LGBT+ museum exhibits, links of inspiring coming out stories, one video of a gay police officer kissing his partner at a pride parade _in uniform._ They didn't talk about it on phone calls or visits unless Carlton brought it up. He'd learned quickly that her goal was to educate, not pressure.

“You've achieved your dreams at work, Booker.” She'd said at the end of a phone call a few months later. “Maybe now it's time to go for your dreams at home.”

And that was how he found himself kissing Shawn Spencer in front of an old Color Me Mine storefront on the outskirts of one of Santa Barbara's outdoor shopping centers.

…

They argued and bickered. Of course they did. Over cases mostly, with the occasional personal drama thrown in. But for the most part, their relationship progressed smoothly. More so than anyone would have expected. Their really large fights were few and far between.

After two months, Henry found out, and it had gone about as well as Shawn had told Carlton he expected. Then Henry, under the guise of being protective, had begun campaigning for Shawn to break things off. _Why would you date someone who could ruin your life? You never stick with any relationship, why would this one be any different? You do realize it would ruin his career too, don't you?_ This ended up with Shawn trying to be as much of an ass to Carlton as he could in order to drive him to be the one to break up with Shawn so that it was less painful for Carlton in the long run. After Shawn had blatantly flirted with a waiter, to the point of making the waiter uncomfortable, while they were on a date, Carlton had done just as Shawn had thought he wanted and dumped him. After the most awkward work week any of them had ever had, Shawn showed up at Carlton's house, a drunken mess, and confessed the whole thing to him before promptly passing out on Carlton's couch. After tucking Shawn into his bed, Carlton went directly to Henry's house, interrupted a poker game, pulled Henry outside, and ripped him a new one right in his own front yard. It was weeks before either of them spoke to Henry again.

Four months after that, Shawn was shot and kidnapped after going after following a lead to a truck yard on his own. After Shawn had released himself from the hospital and escaped Henry, Carlton had welcomed him to his house with a big, not-to-tight hug and a lecture that dissolved into a yelling match that had ended up with Shawn storming out. Carlton tracked him down at Guster's the next day to apologize for lashing out when he was really just scared of losing Shawn. Though he still thought what Shawn had done had been stupidly reckless.

Consequently, after this, Guster was much less suspicious of Carlton's motivations behind his relationship with Shawn.

Five months after that, the day after Shawn had declared his love for Carlton in front of Guster, O'Hara, _Shawn's father_ , and the ichthyologist they had _just met,_ Shawn had decided that would be the perfect time to also tell him, once and for all, that he wasn't a psychic. Shawn had been hoping to encourage Carlton in following his instincts by explaining that that was a big part of what Shawn did, no spiritual butts about it. Carlton however, was not pleased by this bout of honesty. _I know you're not psychic, Shawn, I've always known. Why would you tell me outright? Do you realize the moral dilemma this puts me in, to have a confession of an ongoing fraud against the department and not report it? To have to choose between the two things I love most?_ That had been the first time Carlton had said he loved Shawn too and Shawn had proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him.

A year after that, Shawn had begun mentioning the possibility of them coming out at the station. They had been together for nearly two years and were both very contented in the comfort and ease of their relationship. Carlton had brushed him off for months. Then Shawn's old insecurities started to show. _Maybe Carlton wasn't as happy as Shawn was. Maybe he didn't want to come out because he was ashamed that it would be with Shawn. Maybe Carlton was trying to find a way to break up with him again._ He began to pull away. After two full days of Shawn ditching his calls completely, Carlton realized he needed to do something. He cornered Shawn at the Psych office and finally told him everything. The public rebuke from his childhood priest, the trauma of the hate crime that was his first homicide case and the bigotry he witnessed in its aftermath, the real reasons behind his relationship, marriage, and divorce with Victoria, and that he loved Shawn with all his heart, but he just wasn't ready for the world to know yet.

When Gus walked in on them kissing on the office's couch and they pulled apart to look at him with their tear-streaked faces, he didn't give them a stern reminder of the office PDA rules like he normally did. Instead his shoulders dropped in relief, _oh thank God._

Six months after that, was the station's Holiday Party.

…

“Just one teensy tiny shenanigan?” Shawn asked, his entire being exuding happiness.

Carlton knew if he said no, Shawn would be disappointed, but he would respect it and help Carlton put the sweater on correctly without complaint.

The thing was, all of a sudden, he didn't want to say no.

“How about,” Carlton said before he could think himself out of it. “How about you help me out of this cashmere straight jacket, and we can do one very big shenanigan?”

Surprise and confusion passed over Shawn's face.

“Out there,” Carlton added, with a nod of his head towards the restroom exit.

Shawn's eyes widened in shock and shined with hope, and maybe a little bit with tears.

“Really?” He whispered breathlessly.

Carlton nodded, his own eyes shining and a smile stretching wide across his face.

Shawn launched himself at Carlton and almost knocked the bound man over with the force of his hug. Carlton grunted as he hit the wall behind him. He couldn't hug back so he pressed a soft kiss to Shawn's temple.

Shawn pulled back with a huge grin and started pulling at the sweater as he said, “Okay, let's set you free.”

…

“I don't know about this,” Shawn said for what felt like the hundredth time during their drive.

Carlton took his right hand off the wheel and covered Shawn's bouncing knee.

“Shawn, it's been nearly two years, if I don't bring you to meet her, she's going to pick the absolute worst time possible to come by and surprise us and with our anniversary in a few weeks, I don't think either of us wants to risk that,” Carlton said, giving Shawn a pointed glance before pulling his hand away to make a left turn.

Shawn sighed, “I know, I know, but Mama Lassiter!? I can't imagine anything more intimidating.”

“You're making this a bigger deal than it is,” Carlton said, returning his hand to Shawn's thigh to squeeze it comfortingly, only for Shawn to grab it and pull it between both of his, which were still crumby with cheese powder from his earlier snack.

Carlton winced, but ignored the discomfort, for Shawn's sake.

“You would say that, you already knew both my parents,” Shawn said grumpily. “And they both liked you! Though maybe a bit less so now that they know you're going down to pound town with their son.”

“Shawn!” If Carlton had had a free hand he would have pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. “I've told you, my mother and I have very similar personalities. If you can get me to love you, you can get her to like you. Besides we're almost there and you are going inside that house, even if I have to carry you.”

Shawn slumped down in his seat in defeat.

“And you'll love Althea, Mother says she's already made at least three different pineapple desserts,” Carlton said, glancing slyly at Shawn to see him perk up a bit at that.

Carlton pulled his hand away again to park in the driveway of his childhood home. He turned to Shawn, reached past him, and pulled a pack of wet wipes out of the glove compartment.

“Shawn,” He said gently, to catch his brooding boyfriend's attention. Shawn looked at him as Carlton cleaned the cheese powder off of his hands, anxiety shining clearly in his eyes.

Carlton put the soiled wipes in the grocery bag that was currently serving as their car trash bag, and put his hand to Shawn's cheek, “I promise you Shawn they are just as nervous, and just as excited to finally meet the man who could make me this happy.”

“Are you happy?” Shawn asked. Carlton knew that Shawn knew he was, but he also knew he needed the reassurance.

So he leaned across the center console and pressed a warm, solid kiss to Shawn's lips, then he pulled back just enough to meet Shawn's eyes, “So happy.”

Shawn grinned and kissed Carlton lightly before pulling back fully, “Well then, what are we waiting for!” He jumped out of the car and retrieved the wine they'd brought, leaving Carlton to bring the pot full of his famous chili, and bounded up to introduce himself to the two women who were already waiting for them at the front door.

Carlton blushed as he realized that probably meant his mothers had seen the exchange in the front seat of his car.

He followed more slowly, careful not to spill the chili as he bent to give first Althea and then his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“Everything alright?,” his mother asked.

“Just some pre-meet the parents jitters,” Carlton said, as they followed Shawn and Althea into the kitchen, setting the pot of chili down on the stove.

Shawn gasped and pulled Althea into a sweeping bear hug when she showed him where he could put the wine in the refrigerator, which happened to be where her pineapple desserts were also chilling.

“You've got yourself a live wire, Booker,” His mother said bemusedly.

Shawn flitted about the kitchen, helping to set the table so Althea could finish tossing the salad, all traces of his earlier insecurity gone, or at least very well hidden, to Carlton's trained eye.

Once they finished dinner, they settled in the den for dessert and a few games of Parcheesi.

After Althea had whooped them all in three games, Shawn suddenly moved from the loveseat he was sharing with Carlton to the couch that Althea and Carlton's mother were sharing, squeezing himself between the two women and putting an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Now, Mama Lassiter, Ruthless Althea,” Carlton saw his mother's eyebrows raise at the easy affection, “Where might one find your collection of Little Lassie baby pictures? Perhaps some awkward middle school yearbook photos?”

Carlton let his head fall back and groaned in protest. Althea chuckled and his mother let out a wheezing laugh, as she leaned towards Shawn conspiratorially. “There might be a few in the hallway leading to Booker's old bedroom.”

Carlton watched the way Shawn's eyes gleamed at the thought of seeing his childhood bedroom.

“The photo albums are away in the attic,” His mother continued, “So you'll have to come visit again to see those.”

“Oh I think we can arrange that,” Shawn said, looking to Carlton.

And Carlton knew that embarrassing photos were a small price to pay to see Shawn looking at him like that.

…

With his borrowed sweater on properly, if slightly stretched out, Carlton moved towards the door to remove the broom handle barricade when Shawn's hand on his shoulder made him turn.

“I'm sorry, Lassie, I'm not doubting you want to do this now, and I know I made that big deal earlier about the station being there to support you, which I still fully stand behind. I just want to make extra sure you're sure. There's no going back after this,” Shawn said, almost gravely.

Carlton put his hands up to hold Shawn's face, “I am absolutely, one hundred percent certain about this.”

Shawn visibly relaxed and put his hands over Carlton's, holding them to his face.

“Besides,” Carlton added, “If the station doesn't know, who would we invite to the wedding?”

Shawn gasped, half laughing, half scandalized, “You did not just propose to me next to a urinal!”

“What?” Carlton said innocently, “Of course not, I wouldn't have left the ring at home it I was going to do that.”

Shawn put his hands on his hips, “There is _no way_ you brought a ring into our home and I didn't know about it!”

Carlton laughed and turned, removing the broom handle and grabbing Shawn's hand.

He and Shawn were both grinning like loons a few moments later, when Carlton pulled them to an abrupt stop under the archway at the top of the stairs leading to the bullpen. They were both a bit out of breath from the sprint there and it didn't take long for the other party goers to notice just where the two of them were standing. Before they knew it, the whole station was watching them, some with bated breath, waiting for Carlton to explode, some muffling their laughter, others shouting out “Mistletoe!” and chanting “Kiss! Kiss!”

Carlton glanced around quickly, spotting the Chief, looking amused, but trying to hide it, O'Hara, looking an odd mix of delighted and confused, Carlton felt a familiar twinge of guilt that he had hidden it from her for so long, and Guster next to her, giving them a thumbs up in support.

The onlookers grew silent when Carlton turned to Shawn, realizing it was actually happening.

Shawn brought his hands up to Carlton's neck, and asked one more time, “You're sure?”

Carlton grinned and then wrapped his arms around Shawn's waist and Kissed him. Kissed with a capital K. They kissed with a kiss that was more than a kiss. The kiss to end all kisses. Wesley's and Buttercup's paled in comparison. Then Shawn let out a happy little hum and the Shawn voice in Carlton's head shut up.

They didn't hear the wolf whistles or cheers or gasps of “Did you know?” until they pulled apart, resting their foreheads together, now out of breath for a whole other reason.

Carlton was shaking from the adrenaline.

Then out of the crowd came a familiar indignant voice, “Hey! Is that my sweater!?!”

Carlton glanced at Guster pushing through the throng, but Shawn was already grabbing his hand and pulling him back down the stairs.

“Run, Lassie, Run!”

“Shawn! _Shawn!”_

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in years but apparently this is what I decided to do with my Sunday. 
> 
> I've tried to tag anything that might be triggering, but please let me know if you think I've missed something. 
> 
> If anything sounds like you're read it in another fic, that is entirely possible. Psych has been my apocalypse comfort show and I've watched the whole series twice (which I hadn't done since it originally aired when when I was in high school) and read nearly every Psych fic on here (hyperfixation much?). So I'm not quite sure what was inspired by my own imagination or one of the hundreds of fics I've read over the past six months.


End file.
